


Confidential Confidants

by singlebluerose



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Barry, Asexual Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 09:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6189556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlebluerose/pseuds/singlebluerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Captain Cold and The Flash are sort of (fr)enemies with benefits, only in this case the benefits aren't sex, and they both wind up in way over their heads anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Offer Refused, Another Accepted

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I love a lot of the fics for this pairing that are out there (seriously, some of you are so talented!), I always find myself skipping over the smut parts that are so often a part of them because, well, I'm not interested in sex like at all and it just makes me uncomfortable whether it's in real life or in a story. But the non sexual displays of affection and tenderness always make me melt, so I wanted to put a story out there that would basically have that minus all the sex, and explore how that would pan out in their relationship. 
> 
> I think I'm going to attempt to make this a multi-chapter thing? I have plans for it, anyway. In which case I'll update the tags accordingly as I go~

“No.”

“No? Just like that? Don’t you—”

“I said _no_.”

“Hmm,” Snart eyed him up and down, looking deep in thought before relinquishing his grip on Barry’s wrists to let him up. Barry ignored the pain that shot up his side as he put pressure on his leg, already healing from their admittedly half-hearted fight, watching Snart warily as the other man rocked back on his heels before getting to his feet and brushing the dirt off his knees. There was something unreadable in his eyes, but his lips, as always, were still twisted into that infuriating smirk, making a point of showing he was obviously not intimidated by the glare Barry was sending his way. “That quick? Ouch. Come on, you didn’t even think about it.”

“I’m not interested,” Barry continued to glare, but found himself forced to look away when it became clear that Snart wasn’t going to, his cheeks heating up under the intensity of the other man’s stare.  

“You sure about that?” Snart had the gall to laugh, the sound making Barry’s skin crawl in ways that it probably shouldn’t. “That’s an impressive blush you’re sporting there, Scarlet. I think it might say otherwise.”

Barry spluttered, backing away from Snart’s touch, swatting his hand away as he tried to brush the back of it against Barry’s cheek, no doubt feeling how warm the skin must be underneath his fingers. Snart let his arm fall back to his side, but grinned all the more at Barry’s reaction.

“Shut up, this just—it just _happens_. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Fair,” Snart shrugged, but refused to let the matter drop, because apparently he existed be a thorn in Barry’s side. A stupidly smug, good looking thorn. “But do tell me, Barry, if you’re not in the least bit interested in my… _offer_ …why flirt back?”

“I—what?” Barry’s eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights, and for a moment he considered just running away and saving himself the trouble of answering. But he couldn’t—this problem wasn’t going to go away no matter how far or fast he ran. “I don’t flirt with you!”

“Oh?" Snart clicked his tongue, squinting at Barry and then shaking his head like he was disappointed at what he found there. "You’d have to be slower than I thought not realize that our banter isn’t of the typical…hero-villain variety.”

As a matter of fact, he had, but he'd always just chalked that up to the fact that Snart wasn't exactly a typical villain, not because he—definitely not because he was trying to—not  _flirting_. God. Because he _wasn't_.

“Please, we both know you’re not really all into the villain thing anymore," he said, allowing a grin of his own, finally seeing a way out of their current conversation. And more importantly, a way to push Snart’s buttons right back. "I have other friends on the Waverider, you know. We talk. Apparently you’re quite the team player.”

“Hm. So you admit that I’m special, then?”

“I didn’t—stop twisting my words! I didn’t say that! You’re just—you’re not as bad as this whole act you put on.” 

“Must I remind you that I was in the process of robbing that bank when you showed up and whisked me away to here? You could’ve just taken me to the police.”

“The others need you, you know, with the time travelling and um...yeah,” Barry shrugged uncomfortably, his suit suddenly feeling too tight under Snart’s calculating gaze. _So much for taking control of the conversation_ , he thought bitterly. He swallowed hard, and forced himself to continue. “Besides, I could tell your heart wasn’t really in it. And if you’re in jail the only people I have to look forward to stop are ones that are actually trying to kill me, and where’s the fun in that?”

He was infinitely grateful that he had the foresight to turn off the comms in his suit before spoiling Snart’s heist, knowing that at this point altercations with Cold were more of a game than anything, one that he probably enjoyed a little too much and really didn’t need Cisco and Caitlin lecturing him about. If they’d overheard this, he’d never hear the end of it.

“Ah, see, I knew you enjoyed my company.”

Barry dropped his head into his hands and groaned. Really, he couldn’t win. “Look, just—I’m flattered, I guess? That you’re…attracted to me?” he paused, phrasing it like a question, and looked to Snart uncertainly, because he still had a hard time believing someone like that could be interested in someone like him, all lanky limbs and too-boyish features. Snart just smirked in response—of fucking course—and gave the tiniest jerk of his head, an almost imperceptible nod. Barry let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “Right. Well, I’m flattered. But my answer is still no. I’m not—I don’t want that.”

Snart heaved a sigh, fiddling with something on the cold gun like he was determined to keep his fingers busy, and for the first time it struck Barry that he might actually be nervous. That Captain Cold _could_ actually get nervous. “Whatever you say, Scarlet. You ask me, though, it’s only a matter of time before this—” he gestured between the two of them, both still rumpled and flushed, bright-eyed and a little beat up, “—finds its own outlet. Something’s gotta give, and I think we could agree that there’s a much better solution for the tension here. Hence my offer.”

“’Hence,’” Barry muttered under his breath, mocking him without much heat, because more than anything he just felt tired and hollow at the implications of Snart’s words. Why couldn’t he just get it? Why did everyone assume he wanted—ugh.

“It’s not going to happen,” he grit his teeth, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes until he saw stars, because in a way he knew Snart was right—that there was something more that hung in the air between them whether they were going at each other in a fight or speaking in civilian clothes, a tension that had little to do with being enemies but more to do with the looks they exchanged, the unmistakable spark between them. But more than that, he knew that he’d never be able to give Snart what he was asking, or accept what he was offering, because that wasn’t something he would ever or had ever wanted. The whole friends— _enemies?—_ with benefits thing wasn’t something he would ever be interested in, because typically the only “benefit” was just—sex.

“You’re such a mystery, sometimes,” Snart sighed. Barry lowered his hands from his eyes to squint suspiciously at him, only to find the other man watching him closely, with something almost hurt in his expression. “The way you look at me sometimes, I could’ve sworn—well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I get it.”

“Listen, I don’t—” Barry tugged his cowl off to run a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling far too stuffy beneath the material, his frustration mounting. He felt the need to explain himself, unsettled by the way Snart was frowning at him. “It’s not that I’m not—that I don’t find you attractive and—fuck, why am I even telling you this I just—”

Snart raised an eyebrow, irritatingly patient, and gestured for him to continue, clearly amused by his babbling. Barry crossed his arms and huffed, furious with himself for talking to begin with. He should’ve just left, he didn’t owe Snart an explanation, he didn’t need to tell him anything. And yet there was something nagging at him, a tiny part that wanted to explain, that needed him—needed _someone_ —to understand.

“I don’t do sex, okay?”

“Ah,” Snart pursed his lips, looking more exasperated than disappointed. “Should’ve known, you don’t seem the type to me, after all. With all your hero morals and honor codes, no way you’d be interested in some casual fling, right? You must be—”

“No,” Barry grumbled, cutting him off and glaring down at the floor, wishing he could sink right through it. Of course Snart would assume—of course he wouldn’t get— “That’s not what I meant. I mean I don’t do sex _at all_. I’m—it’s not my thing. Ever. So—maybe you’re right, maybe there is some weird tension between us or whatever, but you’re going to have to find someone else to relieve that for you.”

“Oh,” Snart blinked, seemingly at a loss. Barry felt a flicker of satisfaction in his chest at that, because for once he actually seemed to have taken Snart off guard, wiped that stupid smug look off his face and left him without some snarky comeback. The satisfaction was fleeting, though, when the mortification set in at what he’d just admitted to fucking Captain Cold, of all people, something that he’d only ever told Iris before. He pulled the cowl back up, wanting nothing more than to hide and suddenly feeling far too exposed. Snart tilted his head at him, sensing his discomfort, and watched him with a curious expression. “Okay.”

“Yeah, so, I’m just gonna—” Barry jerked a thumb over his shoulder, refusing to meet Snart’s eyes again, certain his face must be near as red as his suit. He called the lightning to him and turned, ready to bolt, when he felt sudden, strong grip wrap around his wrist, holding him in place. Startled, he turned back to Snart with wide eyes, convinced the man was about to mock him, or tease him, or make some sort of jab at the vulnerable piece of information he’d just blurted out. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , Barry berated himself, but Snart wasn’t smiling, and wonder of wonders, he didn’t look smug.

“Okay, then how about dinner?”

“ _What?”_ Barry gaped at him, certain he must’ve heard wrong. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been…that. Especially considering not even five minutes ago, Snart had put the offer to be casual fuck buddies on the table, and now he was suggesting they just—spend time together. Fully clothed, completely innocent, and _what the fuck was he going on about_?

“Look, Scarlet,” Snart sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his normally cool and composed mask cracking. “I don’t like you, and you don’t like me, but I’ve had a really long, shitty, couple of weeks, and Mick still isn’t talking to me, and Lisa’s still pissed I didn’t tell her about the time travelling thing, and I just—I don’t need sex right now. That was just—okay, that is what I meant when I said it, because I was looking for some sort of release and I thought you might too but—more than that, I could also just use some damn company and maybe a cheesy motivational speech or two, and Kendra and Jax tell me you’re good at that kind of thing.”

“I am good at that kind of thing,” Barry conceded, lifting his shoulder a bit with a smile tugging at lips and a confusing mix of emotions welling up in his chest. “But…seriously? You want _my_ company?”

“Well, I did plan this whole little heist just to get you to come out here, so—”

“You planned a _heist_ so that you could—you realize phones are a thing, right?”

“I don’t have your number,” he shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world, and Barry figured that for him it probably was. After all, this was the man who broke into his house before Christmas just to give him a warning, which—

“You could’ve just—I mean, you know where I live.”

“Because that went over so well the last time,” Snart rolled his eyes, before tilting his head at Barry with that look in his eye again, one that Barry was starting to recognize as appreciation. “Besides, I missed the suit.”

“Okay,” Barry rubbed at his temples, still processing what he was about to agree to. Because despite how ridiculous and out of the blue, well—he was going to agree. Truth was he could really use some company too, and it’d be nice to do that guilt-free, without worrying that he was putting his friends and family in danger just by being near them. And if that meant sitting down and having dinner with Leonard Snart—well. He did have a track record of making remarkably stupid decisions when he was lonely, and he _was_ hungry. “Okay. I’ll go with you. Just—I’ll give you my number, I guess. No, actually—give me yours first, and I’ll text you a time and place.”

“You’ll text me? Why, Barry, that sounds like—”

“Like I’m choosing where we’re going and when? Yeah, Cold, I’m definitely picking, if we’re really doing this.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged again, looking entirely too pleased with himself. And then that smirk was back, and Barry was sincerely regretting all his life choices, as per usual. “But you might want to change first, _Flash_.”

 


	2. Food and Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry and Len talk, a lot, and make plans again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooooow okay so I really don't usually write multi-chapter fic so sorry that I haven't touched this in months, if anyone was actually interested in it! I'm not abandoning it, I'm just reaaaally slow. So, the last one was Barry's POV, this one is Len's. I also wanna point out that I usually use present tense in my stories, and it's been so long since I touched this fic that when I started writing this new chapter it was all in present tense until I remember I started this story in past, so if it sounds awkward in places where I had to change present to past that's why, and also let me know if I missed anything when trying to fix it! 
> 
> More importantly, I swear, I do have a plot planned out for this story, but it's not all set in stone so I'm always open to suggestions if you have any ideas where you'd like to see this go or scenes you'd like to see! So...that's that. (I might go back an edit this later bc I'm tired and haven't really proofread but I just wanted to finally get it out there since I seem to finally be moving past a reaaaaaaally big writer's block)
> 
> OH and you're probably wondering about the timeline for this; I intend it to be after s2 with the one major change that Barry doesn't go back and save his mom because YIKES that's gonna be a mess; honestly I haven't really kept up with LoT so let's just pretend they haven't defeated Savage yet by the time Barry defeats Zoom and his dad is murdered; also don't worry Len isn't going to die in this (I don't typically do MCD)

Len had honestly thought that the strangest-most-unexpected situation he’d find himself in couldn't be topped by Rip recruiting him and Mick to join a crew the guy had assembled aboard a time-traveling ship from the future to stop an immortal madman, but apparently he’d thought too soon. Because sitting across from the Flash, the goody-two-shoes superhero who was _supposed_ to be his nemesis, having a civil conversation and chatting over burgers and fries in the middle of a diner in plain view was decidedly stranger, and somehow more unbelievable. He’d never in a million years thought the kid would actually agree to spend time with him outside of foiling his heists (or attempting to, at least). And yet…he wasn’t complaining. It was nice. He didn’t tell Barry everything, not the things he wasn’t ready to fully confront himself, but he told him enough.

Watching Barry smile sweetly and triumphantly as he listened along to Len’s stories about where he’s been, eyes bright and attentive like he was genuinely interested to hear what Len has to say, voicing a smug ‘I told you so’ about Len having good in him (“Shut up, Barry,” Len had rolled his eyes at that without any real heat), he realized with a strange jolt in his stomach that he was actually _enjoying_ himself. Huh.

"Time traveling is a bitch," Barry sighed, absentmindedly twirling the straw in his glass, after Len explained exactly what it is he’d been doing. The smile was suddenly gone from his face, replaced by a disgruntled little frown, and Len found himself inexplicably missing it. "And messing with it is never good. This Rip guy better know what he's getting you all into. It's not fair for him to drag you into this mess—it's selfish."

"My, my, Barry Allen," Len clicked his tongue, eyebrows raised. "I'm surprised. You struck me as the type of person who'd do anything and everything they could to save their family."

Barry's face darkened at that, a haunted look in his eyes that had Len wishing he could take his words back, drop the topic entirely. The bitterness in his expression just wasn't...right. "I used to be. I guess I still am, to an extent. But..."

Unsure what to make of the kid's sudden vagueness, Len stayed quiet, watching him expectantly as Barry refused to meet his eyes. Maybe, he thought, it had something to do with why the broken, closed off man sitting before him was so different from the bright, optimistic do-gooder he met during those first months of the Flash's appearance. It was almost impossible not to notice the change in him, and although Len prided himself on keeping his emotions at bay...it troubled him. To see someone so intent on doing some good in the world, on being a source of light in dark times, so defeated. He liked to think it was just because he'd miss the challenge if Allen really was throwing in the towel, but...deep down in the small, honest part of him that he tried to keep hidden, that had somehow survived over the years, he knew that really wasn't it.

With a sigh, Barry dropped his hands from his straw to wrap his fingers tightly around his drink, drumming his fingertips against the glass in a rapid pattern like sitting still was some impossible feat, like he needed something to keep his hands occupied, and continued, looking like he’d just swallowed a lemon. "What happened to Rip's family is awful," Barry said with a grimace, his tone clipped in a poor attempt to appear detached, but Len could see the sympathy in his eyes. "But that shouldn't be why he's doing this."

Len felt his eyebrows raise in surprise, taken off guard, not for the first time, by the man before him. "Oh?"

Barry scowled down at the table, but again, Len noticed that he looked more defeated than angry, and couldn’t help but wonder the cause. "Going back in the past to fix a personal tragedy, to save someone you love—you're not supposed to do that. Life really fucking sucks sometimes, death happens to people it shouldn't, people you love, but you can't change that. You're not supposed to. I find it hard to believe that Rip doesn't understand those consequences."

"Not that I disagree," Len said, squinting at Barry over the rim of his glass, "But how would you know? And why do I get the strange feeling that you're speaking from experience here?” He spoke slowly, using his usual careful draw to hide concern in his voice. He felt his curiosity peak as he watched Barry move his hands from his glass to fold in front of him on the table, clearly attempting to control the nervous twitch of his fingers. “You ever been on a time traveling space ship before, Scarlet?"

“No—no, I—it’s a long story. You probably wouldn’t even believe me.”

“Scarlet…” Len shook his head, staring hard at him, amusement warring with exasperation. “I literally just told you I’ve been travelling through time to stop an immortal douchebag with a bunch of other weirdos, and you have fucking _superspeed_. What in god’s name makes you think I wouldn’t believe you?”

Barry shot him a look, but did look a bit sheepish at that, his eyes just a little less guarded, expression a little more unsure. “Okay, fair. But it is a long story. There’s—a lot of different parts to it. The simple explanation is just that I can sort of, uh, travel through time if I run fast enough. Which I can. And I have.”

“Okay,” Len nodded, taking that in stride. “Why don’t you tell me the long explanation? I’ve got time. Come on, I've told you all about my perilous adventures and...issues. Your turn to spill your guts, kid."

"What makes you think I'd tell you anything, Snart? And what makes you think I even have anything to tell?” Barry snorted, clearly unimpressed by Len’s tactics. He should’ve known he’d need a gentler approach to coax the story out of him.

"Please, you look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders right now, kid. It’s not good for you to bottle all of that up. And now you have a… _sympathetic_ ear to listen, or complain to, whatever you like. Go ahead, get it all off your chest. I'm listening."

"O-kaaaay..." Barry narrowed his eyes at him, like he didn’t quite trust Len’s motives weren’t some sort of trick to get information he could use against him. Len really couldn’t blame him, given their track record, and the fact that Len _was_ still technically the Flash’s enemy, when he wasn’t off time-travelling to save the stupid world. Or something. Still, for once he actually was being genuine. Something about those big, pretty green eyes, watching him with mistrust, that face that somehow looked so much older than the optimistic, innocent kid he’d first met, yet still so young, so expressive, made Len feel soft and weak in a way he knew could only mean trouble. Damn kid, always wearing his heart on his sleeve.

"And you might as well call me Len,” he continued, when the silence dragged and Barry still hadn’t responded, attempting to break down his reservations. “If you're going to be spilling your life story to me."

"Again. Who says I'm going to be spilling my life story to you," Barry grumbled, but there was a spark of uncertainty in his eyes, a look that told Len that he really did want to talk about it. And who knew, maybe getting some things off his chest really would help the kid. Len would never admit it, but he’d actually felt a bit lighter himself after telling Barry about his time-travelling adventures.

“Okay,” Barry finally broke, worrying his bottom lip as he searched Len’s expression again, apparently satisfied with what he found there. Len tried not to think of what that meant for the cool exterior he tried to maintain, instead sitting back and letting Barry take his time, listening intently. “It started—well. Um. You remember when you kidnapped Cisco to figure out my identity?”

 

* * *

 

“Do you...maybe want to come over?” Barry said as they walked towards the side alley, where Len’s motorbike was parked, his voice just a little too high, punctuated by nerves. They’d overstayed their welcome at the diner, kicked out at closing time. Len hadn’t even realized they’d been talking for so long—he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt so relaxed, and then he’d settled in to listen to Barry’s story, and it wasn’t so much relaxed anymore as it was captivated, and also slightly horrified at what the other man had gone through.

And Len knew that was only the half of it—Barry had only gotten up to the point of explaining the singularity in his story when the diner closed, and they’d been ushered out the door. Barry had put on a brave face throughout it, and Len could see him struggling, to the point where Len had impulsively reached out to grab his hand at one point, squeezing it reassuringly as Barry struggled to continue, fighting back tears as he described the attempt at going back in time to save his mom, and then watching her die. At first Barry had tensed up under his touch, but then he’d relaxed again, offering up a tiny, broken smile of thanks.

And now they were here.

“I mean—” Barry stumbled over his words, eyes wide with embarrassment when Len didn’t respond right away. “If you want. Since we were kind of interrupted, you know. Just to keep talking, maybe we could relax, watch a movie or something or—is that too weird? It's just that talking to you about things...I don't know, this night has been weirdly...nice? Well, the first part of it was, the second part was depressing but—helpful. I really needed that, and—"

"I can't tonight, kid," Len said gently, cutting him off, something twisting in his gut as he watched Barry's face fall.

"Oh, oh yeah—of course. Sorry, I just thought—"

"But I'm free this weekend." Len stopped in front of his bike, pulling his helmet off the handle and hearing Barry come to a stop behind him before turning to face him again, letting out a breath and meeting Barry’s stunned gaze evenly.

"You...what?" Barry blinked at him, eyes wide. It was…he was so...not adorable. Definitely not.

God, Len was _so_ screwed.

“I'm free this weekend,” Len clarified, attempting a smile, which ended up being more of a smirk. “If you still want me over, that is."

“Just—just to talk! You know, like we did tonight, not...um...” Barry hastened to explain, and Len's stomach dropped at the thought of Barry explaining this to people before him who no doubt had made a certain assumption at such an invitation, his mind going back to the conversation they’d had earlier, before they’d even agreed on dinner, a sour taste in his mouth at the fact that there was even a reason he had to explain in the first place.

“Or a movie. I get it.” Len nodded, watching Barry's expression carefully, hoping to ease his worries. He took a deep breath, feeling slightly on edge until he noticed the tension leave Barry’s shoulders again.

“Alright then,” Barry smiled at him, uncharacteristically shy, “Friday? Or Saturday? Whatever works better with your...schedule." Len watched in amusement as he crinkled his nose, like he was having a hard time conceiving balancing a life as criminal with time traveling to save the world on the regular as a proper career.

“Saturday's fine,” Len said, smirking at him, leaning against his bike. “Don't need to be back on the Waverider ‘til Sunday night.”

"Alright, well...don't steal anything in the meantime, okay?"

Len held back a laugh, but it was a near thing. _Superheroes._ So adorably naïve.

"No promises," he shrugged, just to make Barry splutter, even though he really didn't have any heists planned for the week—just a lot of quality time with Lisa. Who was going to kill him for being gone so long in the first place.

“You’re _so_ …ugh. Well…bye,” Barry waved, a little awkwardly, as Len moved to climb onto his bike. Len just gave him a little nod of acknowledgement in return, determined to maintain at least a shred of his dignity before returning home for the night, letting his cold mask slip back into place.

At least, that was the plan, until he felt the ghost of an embrace surround him, something squeezing him tight for less than a second before the sudden warmth was gone again, leaving a trail of lightning in its wake. Len watched Barry go, mind reeling, frozen to the spot in the cold, empty alleyway until the streak of lightning was no longer visible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/Criticism are always appreciated!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are much appreciated, especially as I'm really not sure if I got their dynamic or dialogue right at all and I'm pretty nervous about posting this!


End file.
